My Immortal
by Dixie Cross
Summary: Six years have passed since Rhett left Scarlett.
1. Chapter 1

Scarlett walked through her front door and immediately knew something was wrong. There was a scent that hit her nose, a scent she had not smelled in her home for a very long time. The aroma tugged at her brain, the stench as sharp as the memories it conjured. She had always known that this day would come. For months she had cried herself to sleep because it hadn't. But those tears had long since stopped falling. That well of emotion had long since dried up.

She tore off her winter cloak, the fabric whipping as it dropped to the floor, and stormed down the hall toward the back parlor. No matter how many years it had been he would make himself at home. Rhett had never avoided doing anything because it might make her life easier.

Her heels clicked loudly against the wooden floors and she uttered a quick prayer of thanks that Wade and Ella's train had been delayed. She paused, just for a moment, just to carve out that last scrap of desire. It wasn't that hard.

Her hand clutched the doorknob, she threw open the door, and there he was—lounging on the sofa, his long legs stretched out, a cigar tucked elegantly between his full lips, and that cool look upon his face. Her chin tilted up. Her eyes slanted down. She had survived his good-bye. She would survive his return.

Without breaking a step, she swept toward him and yanked the cigar from his mouth. "I don't permit strangers to smoke in the family parlor," she said, flinging the butt into the cold grate.

The embers trailed as sparks in a night sky and the smoke curled around his head. It prickled in her nostrils and stung her eyes. She stepped back and raked her eyes carelessly over him. The years had been kind to him.

"Evening, Scarlett," he drawled at last. His glinting gaze roved up and down her now, slicking through her clothes and oozing underneath her skin. "There is nothing like a warm welcome from your wife."

"What are you doing here?"

"I told you I would come back to keep the gossip down."

"That was six years ago. The gossip has come and gone." Her voice thickened with disgust. "And so should you."

"You're the one, madam, who didn't want a divorce."

"That doesn't mean I want you back in my life."

Something flickered in his black eyes, flickered and was gone. "Correct me if I am mistaken, but the last time we spoke you begged me to stay and professed an undying love for me. Was that all an act? It was a rather convincing one, I'll admit."

She crossed her arms tightly across her chest. "No, it wasn't an act, but it was a long, long time ago. I've had time to think things over. I've had time to think of all the wrong you did to me."

"Neither of us is faultless, my pet—"

"I am not your pet."

"My dear—"

"I am not your dear."

"You are my wife," he said quietly.

"In name only."

He stood with the slow grace of an old stallion. His shadow loomed over and all around her. Age had not diminished his strength, nor shrunken his height. "I didn't come back to relive the past, Scarlett. I didn't come back to fight."

"Why did you come back?"

"I came back for you, of course." His black brows arched up, those mocking wrinkles so deep, that the nostalgia nearly buckled her knees out from under her. She would not bow before him, though. She allowed the sway of the moment to rush past her, and then straightened her shoulders and spine. The storm, this wind, would not knock her to the floor this time.

"You nearly destroyed me, Rhett—out of everything, it was you that nearly destroyed me. It took all the strength I had not to just surrender. But somehow, I did it. Somehow I stayed alive. Somehow I learned to live without you." She blew the hot breath out of her lips. "You are no longer welcome here. Go back to wherever you came from."

Rhett stared down at her. She had never been able to read his thoughts on his blank, dark face. Tonight was no different. He lifted his hand, and her muscles tensed. Her jaw clenched. Rhett frowned, and swiping his fingers across that errant strand of bang, muttered, "Si vix pacem, para bellum."

"Don't," she seethed. "Don't do that."

"Don't do what Scarlett?" he asked tiredly.

"Don't try and talk at me like I am a child. I'm not the broken girl that wept for days after you left. I don't care what your fancy phrase means. I care that you're still here and that if you linger too long, Wade and Ella will be home."

"I'd like to see them."

"They won't like to see you."

"How would you know?"

"I am their mother."

He leaned back and sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets. "You think I don't know that you've shipped them off to boarding school for the past six years?"

"Viper," she thought. "That's what he is, a snake in my garden that I can't kill." She twirled away from him. She couldn't be so near to him. It did things to her. There had always been electricity between them. Even when she had been ignorant of his love, she had been aware of his presence. She clutched at the back of the sofa and looked up at him, straining against her own dead ache for him. He needed to leave.

"Who let you in Rhett?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. You always do. I mean who opened the door and let you in? You don't know any of my staff. I need to know who I should fire."

"No one let me in Scarlett. I have a key."

"I should have changed that stupid lock years ago."

"Apparently."

Her palm throbbed to slap that smirk off his face. "Please," she begged instead. "Please just go."

Finally, Rhett nodded. He picked up his hat from off a table and slowly crossed the room. Stopping at the parlor door, he placed his hand on the frame and turned back to her.

"Just out of curiosity—would it change anything if I loved you?"

"No," she said, after a breathless moment. "No."

Not another word was spoken. Rhett disappeared down the hallway. Scarlett stumbled her way around the sofa and fell down, trembling and heaving. She had done it. With the echo of his voice in the room, she hugged herself and wept. Tomorrow had come, and gone.

_Disclaimer: I own neither "I Will Survive" nor GWTW... _

_Note: I couldn't sleep. I couldn't write what I "should" be writing. So I wrote this instead, because three songs came up on my random Youtube playlist: I Will Survive, Jar of Hearts, My Immortal. Eh, voila. (And if you are ever bored like me, and avoiding doing anything actually productive, you might watch the Youtube GWTW fanvids...There are some fun ones.)_

_Thanks for those who review. Probably one-shot. I just don't have the time, and I have too many ideas for ABS and need to finish PE. And I think this really is a one-shot, even if I hate that they aren't together. Every time...it just kills me. I re-read the novel recently...and every time it just kills me. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Note: I couldn't stop at where I had left it, even if so few of you wanted me to continue, even if I didn't want to really continue it. But...eh, I go where the wind takes me. (Oh, and I probably didn't need the latin, but I think Rhett used his intelligence as a way to distance himself emotionally.).And ummm...I guess we'll learn why he was gone for so long. I can't promise how frequently I'll update this but I'm almost done with my P&P piece and I will focus more on Souffle. That one is meant to be a lighter, happier fling. And yup, Evanescence's My Immortal. _

_**Chapter 2: Killing Me Softly**_

Snow had fallen, blanketing that Christmas day in 1879 with a cover of white. Scarlett sipped her coffee, the steam rising pleasantly into her nostrils, and watched from the window as Wade and Beau indiscriminately threw Ella and their aunt into the powdery ground. Scarlett couldn't stop herself from smirking at India's flushed, frost-bitten face. "My word! She hasn't looked so blooming since before Mrs. Wilkes' death," she silently mused. "The cold does her sallow complexion a world of good."

This wasn't thought meanly, no malice edged behind the amusement. Years had passed since Scarlett had hated India. After the devastation of Melly's passing, she had begrudgingly, slowly learned to respect the spinster. The change in sentiment had been reciprocated. Their steely natures had stopped clashing, melding together to prop up Ashley and the rest of Atlanta. Death could do that. It could bring new life to old relationships. Still to this day they could not be considered friends, only the deepest allies.

Smiling, Scarlett inhaled the bitter scent of her drink and sipped again from it. The warm liquid swilled down her throat. Wade suddenly turned on his own ally, and with a graceful brutality, flung Beau down beside his sister and aunt.

"When did Wade become a man?"

She heard her thoughts in the voice of the man beside her and looked at him. Ashley scratched his chin, staring thoughtfully back at her. His grey eyes were soft with wonder.

"I don't know," she answered. "He's almost seventeen. It had to happen sometime."

He laughed, she shrugged, and they both turned back to the window.

"Neither Beau nor Wade looks like their fathers anymore," Ashley said. "They both look like—"

"Melly," Scarlet finished.

"Melly, yes, and for Wade, Ellen as well. More and more I see your mother in him."

Scarlett nodded. Wade's curls had straightened and darkened. His eyes had too. They were older somehow, so much older than his young age. But it was more than just her son's appearance that reminded Scarlett of the two greatest women she had ever known—it was in Wade's unfailing kindness and frightening, dogged loyalty to those he loved that had first made her take note of the striking similarity.

During Scarlett's darkest days, he would come home almost every weekend from school to be with her, despite her protests and despite her having sent him away. To most, he was a tender lad, endearingly shy and good mannered, but to those who knew him best, he was their gentle rock. Whatever cowardliness had been there before Rhett's desertion, whatever tremulous temperament had characterized his childhood years had hardened into mettle as resilient as his mother's and as immobile as his aunt's. He had cared for his mother when no one else had cared about her. He had pushed her out the door, and she in turn had pushed Ashley out of his door. Ella had become his keep; his family his purpose. And not once had Wade asked why his world had collapsed within only a couple days. Not once had he asked why his beloved aunt had been taken away. Not once had he asked why Uncle Rhett had abandoned them, had abandoned him.

Scarlett could not know what had driven her timid eleven year old son to watch over her so relentlessly, to transform so suddenly. Her own heartache had been too great for her to see the anger in his soft brown eyes, to sense the hatred that had endowed him with an iron will. No one but Wade understood it. No one but Wade remembered that he was the grandson of both a rough Irish peasant and a hard-nosed soldier. No one but Wade realized that the spirit and blood of his undefeatable mother also flowed in his veins. Scarlett had not known it then and she still did not know it now, but she could see the strong young man that had grown up from that fragile little boy. These days when she looked at her son, her heart burst with pride.

Wade was handsome and tall, with long, lean legs and powerful arms. He was popular at school, sought after at home. And he was oblivious of his charm, humble about his skill on a horse or with a gun, which made him all the more inviting. He really was that genteel. He really was that genuine. Every boy in Atlanta wanted to be him. Every belle in Atlanta eyed him with envy. Every mother waited for him to come of age and inherit his considerable wealth. He was from an old family, after all. His mother had mended her ways, after all. He was, in every way, the living proof that all those beautiful, strapping young men had not died in vain.

Scarlett and Ashley remained at the window, their breath and drinks fogging up the glass. There was a snowball battle going on now in the backyard of Aunt Pitty's house—still called Aunt Pitty's house by every soul in town, despite the fact that her tiny feet hadn't pitter-pattered over the floorboards for more than five years. To Scarlett the brick house had never felt quite the same. It had never been as welcoming, never smelled as sweet. But today, with the hearth alit and the snow falling, it almost did. Outside, happy screams punctured the frosty air. Inside, Ashley and Scarlett quietly watched. Both their minds were turned in the same direction as their faces. Beau had finally managed to tackle Wade, and the two cousins were wrestling, kicking up clouds of dusty snow.

"It's a shame Henry's rheumatism has flared up today. Beau told me all he wanted to talk about the last time he visited him was the fact that Wade would be coming home for Christmas."

"Wade and Ella already promised me they would pay him a call tomorrow. Uncle Henry wasn't always so mushy about things."

"He's proud of Wade."

"He's proud of Beau, too."

"Yes, but I think in Wade especially he sees what he always wanted to see in Charles. I remember Melly telling me that Henry would always complain to Miss Pitty that she had turned a soldier's son into a…ninny."

Scarlett dimpled at Ashley's feigned disgust and shook her head. "Charles," she sighed. "I don't even remember what he looked like. Wade has a frame of him somewhere—at school probably—but I wouldn't know him from Adam."

"I always liked Charles, even if I was jealous of him for many years."

"Jealous of Charles, Ashley? Whatever for?"

Ashley traced her face and body with his drowsy gaze, in a way that he hadn't for many years, in a way he possibly never had. A faint heat spread over Scarlett's cheeks. The sensation was so unfamiliar it felt unnatural, so unused it quickly faded.

"There was you, of course—that was your goal, wasn't it?"

"It's been too many years for me to remember."

"Your ability to remain in the present never ceases to amaze me. You never think of the past. You never dream of the future. You are always, ever fixed in the now. I wonder if you know how rare a gift that is."

She frowned at Ashley. Today was peaceful, as pristine as the untouched snow on the trees. Why would he want to ruin everything by drudging up so much muck from the past? It never did any good. It could never change what had already happened.

"I don't know if it's a gift so much as a choice for me to keep my mind on today. You could make the same choice, you know."

"I could if I were a different man."

He smiled at her and set his cup down on a side table. There was something in his face, some light she had not seen since before Melly's death that brightened his eyes. He had always been handsome, the shock and grief of mourning his wife had warmed away some years previous. But today, in this quiet moment, he almost looked young again. He almost looked like her Ashley. Strange, since she had come to believe her Ashley had never existed.

"You weren't the only reason I was jealous of Charles, Scarlett," he said slowly. "I was jealous of him in the same way I was jealous of the twins and my father and any number of men from the County. I was jealous that they had died and I had lived. We both know I should never have come back. I was ready to die. I wanted to die. But out of everyone, out of all my boyhood friends, I came back. I survived."

"You weren't the only one. Tony came back. Cal came back."

"True, but I was the only one who came back and understood that I had lost more than my land or my slaves or my friends. I understood that I had lost myself. I lost myself all over again the day Melly died."

"We've lost a lot, Ashley. We all have. But we're alive. We've survived. That's all that matters."

"I know, and that's my point, Scarlett. I'm no longer jealous. I'm grateful for my life, grateful that I can watch my son grow up, that I can spend Christmas with my loved ones, that I can sit here and drink coffee with a beautiful woman."

Again he drilled her with his eyes, no longer hazy or disinterested. It was a cold fire that tickled in her belly, an even colder chill that pierced her heart.

"Fiddle-dee-dee, Ashley," she said warily. "Is there a reason you're trying to butter me up?"

Ashley smiled, as smooth as the day is long. "I'm not trying to butter you up Scarlett. You've always been beautiful to me, you know that. It's just that I've finally come to terms with whatever did or didn't happen with us."

"How nice for you."

"Nice isn't the word I would use."

"I don't care what word you would use. I don't want to hear—anything."

"I know, but you've always been stronger than me. And I thought for once I could help you. I wanted to offer you some peace of mind."

"My mind's just fine, and so was my peace before you started talking."

"Then maybe I only want to help myself. I certainly can't seem to stop myself." Ashley took a step toward her. "Scarlett I've begun to wonder if Melanie might have known about…about us. I think she might have at least suspected something."

"Don't say that Ashley. Don't say that. My one saving grace out of the whole mess is that Melly didn't know, that she loved you and me and never, ever knew of our betrayal."

"We'll never know for certain, but don't you see that it would be better if Melly had known? I used to think that it would have been the death of me if she had found out about us, but I don't believe that anymore." His voice dropped with conviction. "My dear Scarlett, can't you see that it could finally set us free of our guilt? If Melanie knew of our dishonor but chose to overlook it? If she chose to trust that we loved her more? If she chose to love us more? For the first time in years I feel like my wife has forgiven me. I can think of her memory without the burden of my shame."

Scarlett's hands trembled, the cup shook against the saucer. Things she did not want to remember were rising up from their graves. Things that should remain buried. Without saying a word, she put her coffee down and spun around, stalking out the back parlor. Ashley hurried after her, his swift footfalls right behind.

"Where are you going?"

"I can't do this today, Ashley. If you want to go digging up old regrets, that's your business. Not mine."

She pulled her heavy cloak off the rack and threw it around her shoulders. Three days ago Rhett had waltzed right back into her life, and with every nerve tingling for his touch, she had shoved him out her door. She wasn't about to let Ashley, with his wistful eyes and foolish talk, confuse her all over again.

"You can't go Scarlett. We haven't even had supper."

"I'll do my eating alone tonight. Wade and Ella won't mind if I'm not here."

"They will mind. We all will"

"You should have thought of that before you started going on about things that don't need to be said."

She glared back at him, hating him right now as much as she had once loved him. After all they had been through together these last six years, after everything she had done for him—keeping the mills running, putting food on the table for his son, cleaning him up when he would barely dress himself.

"Merry Christmas, Ashley," she muttered.

"I saw him, Scarlett," he replied. "I saw your—I saw Butler."

Her hand was on the door and at his confession it fell limply to her side. The wind blew out of her lungs, the anger out of her body. She should have known. All roads always led back to Rhett.

"When?" she asked hollowly.

"Yesterday."

"Where?"

"At the cemetery."

So he was still in Atlanta, as recent as yesterday. Slowly she nodded and even more slowly she turned back around. Ashley stood only a foot away, his slender frame blocking her view from everything else. He had always been in her way, somehow distracting her.

"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I wasn't certain if you were aware of his visit."

"I was aware. He let himself into my house the other day." She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. "Did he speak to you?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing, really. He asked about Beau and the mills. I told him they were both doing fine, because of you. He didn't seem surprised."

"He was visiting Bonnie's grave."

"I believe so. He approached me."

"He did?"

Ashley shrugged his shoulders. "We were always civil."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Not exactly, but I did."

Scarlett couldn't manage any more shocks today. She brushed her hand across her brow. The weight of this day, of these last few days settled on her and she straightened her spine to withstand the pressure.

"What did you tell him?"

"I apologized to him for any harm that I might have done him."

Scarlett laughed raggedly at this. No matter how many years she had known Ashley she would never understand him. Gentlemen, gentle people, were a mystery to her. After everything he still thought something like honor mattered!

"Oh, Ashley," she said, still laughing. "Oh, sweet Ashley."

"That's precisely what Rhett did, apart from calling me sweet. He laughed at me and then said the oddest thing—I still don't fully understand it. He told me that I should have just given in at Twelve Oaks and saved us all the trouble of pretending." Ashley had one hand in his pocket and the other rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure what he meant by it, but it did make me suspect that maybe he had known about us for longer than I had supposed. Of course, I knew he had to suspect something after that day at the mill. But his comment did make me think that maybe Melly had known too. Whatever Rhett is, he is not a fool. And for all Melanie's innocence, she was not naïve."

The crazed half-smile slid off Scarlett face. Pity and contempt burned in her green eyes. If this was a day for reckoning, so be it.

"I pray you are wrong about Melly, Ashley. But you are not wrong about Rhett. He did know for much longer than you ever knew. He knew since the barbecue."

"What?"

"He was there—on the sofa, in the library. He heard everything: my declaration, your…whatever it is you told me…he heard it all. And he never forgot about it. He never let me forget about it, either."

"Well," he said. "That does clarify things."

"Aren't you…"

Ashley raised his brows at her. A tender grin emerged on his lips, almost mocking. He suddenly seemed amused.

"Aren't I what?"

"Aren't you upset?"

"Upset? On the contrary, I'm relieved."

"Relieved?"

"Wouldn't you be? Here is this man that I have loathed for years, loathed as much as I loathe myself, but who I still should never have wronged. More than wanting you, the sin of my own dishonesty has always bothered me most. I couldn't help the way I felt about you. I couldn't stop myself from desiring you, and I assure you I did try, but if I had been a bigger man, I might have at least been honest—with you, with Melanie, and even with Rhett. So yes, it's a relief to know that I did not deceive him, at least."

A single feeling arose within Scarlett from this: fatigue. Her shoulders slumped. Would this never end? Would she never be free of her mistakes? Whatever Ashley had claimed, she had not forgotten the past. It stayed with her always, that constant, lurking shadow of all the things she would have done differently and of all the people she would have loved better.

Hesitatingly, Ashley closed the short distance between them. He placed his hands on her shoulders and studied her face, imploring her for patience, his touch light.

"I can only imagine what his reappearance does to you. I gather Wade and Ella don't know?"

She shook her head, too tired to speak.

"If he's still in Atlanta, dear, I can find out where he's lodging. I will go to him and ask him to leave, if that is what you want. Although, I'm not certain he'll appreciate the irony of me as the messenger. Do you have any idea why he returned?"

"Who knows why Rhett does anything—I certainly never have. I've never understood how he thinks or what he is thinking."

"Call it a bizarre quirk of fate, but I usually have. We always did think alike, even if we acted so differently. We were both against the war, but we both still fought in the war. We both hurt you even though we both loved you—and I did love you, Scarlett. It was different than my love for Melly, but I did still love you. In a way, I always have. "

Scarlett stared up at Ashley, her gaze wide with despair, her lips open in confusion, and her cheeks flushed from exhaustion. "I'm going to pay for loving them both for the rest of my life," she thought forlornly. Suddenly she felt Ashley's grip harden on her shoulders, and from the depths of his grey, distant eyes surged unmasked desire.

"What would you do if I kissed you?"

"Ashley—"

"You asked me to kiss you once, right in this very spot, practically on this very day."

"I still have a husband—"

"I had a wife. She was upstairs sobbing, and I still couldn't say no to you." He bent his head to her face, his lips brushed hotly across her cheek. "You don't owe Rhett anything, Scarlett. I'm the one who is here—we're the only ones still here. Kiss me, darling."

She was too stunned, too tired, too indifferent to protest. His arms wrapped around her waist and when his mouth found hers, Scarlett didn't want to resist. It had been so long since a man had held her in this way, since there had been heat in her blood and a flush on her skin. The shadows of the years melted off from her. A stirring of passion, of love, of life swirled in her core. She clung to Ashley, forgetting it was Ashley. He was flesh and blood; spring after the long, endless winter. He was a man and she was a woman. And in that bewildering moment that was all that mattered.

Hungrily they kissed one another, blind to their surroundings, oblivious to all but the remembrance of wild, sweet infatuation. Vaguely Scarlett realized they had moved, that Ashley had spun her around, that as she arched her back, her spine scratched against the wall and her head bumped against a picture frame. His lips lowered down her jaw, skidding along her neck and dancing across her flesh. His hands—she didn't know where his hands were, only that they were everywhere. She moaned, her eyes fluttering open, and that's when she saw Wade.

Instantly she wrenched Ashley off of her. He staggered back, his confusion lasting only as long as it took him to trace the line of her unblinking gaze, and twirl around. She noticed his tall body convulse and his hands go rigid, but his surprise was nothing, a blurry blip in her periphery. She only had eyes for her son.

"Uncle Ashley," Wade said, keeping his glittering gaze locked on his mother. "Beau wanted to borrow your gloves. His are soaked through. Will you get them for me?"

"Of…of course," Ashley stammered. "I think…I think they're upstairs."

"Would you mind getting them now? I believe Ella and Aunt India are coming in." He glanced at his uncle. "I don't think you want them to see you at the moment."

The back of Ashley's neck bled from red to crimson. He swiped his hand through his hair, cast Scarlett a look of pure, broken humiliation, and swiftly went up the stairs. Wade waited until they heard the upstairs floorboards creak before he walked toward his mother.

Scarlett had regained some calm, some dignity. She wrapped her cloak about her and refused to be further abashed by her glaring boy.

"Wade Hamilton—"

He immediately cut her off. Scarlett could not bully her son or make him cower. A reality that made her as mad as it made her secretly glad. But that is what happens when a child starts to believe he or she is the adult, as it had happened to Wade six years ago.

"Mother, can you imagine what would have happened if Beau or Aunt India had been the ones to walk in? Or Ella? Do you have any idea what that would have done to Ella? It would have destroyed her."

"Don't be so dramatic, Wade," she snapped, now more peeved than embarrassed. She didn't need her son telling her off about her own daughter.

Wade didn't flinch.

"How long has this been going on, Mother?"

"That is neither your concern, nor your place to ask."

"It is if you are going to be kissing my uncle without discretion."

"No, even then it would not be your concern. You're crossing a line, young man."

Wade came to a halt an arm's length away. His face was flushed red, from the cold and the anger. He folded his arms and took a long breath.

"I do apologize, Mother. I am only trying to understand. Are you marrying Uncle Ashley?" He clenched his jaw. "Are you finally divorcing Rhett?"

Scarlett started. It wasn't that she never spoke her husband's name anymore, but she hadn't heard Wade speak it since the day Rhett had left. Her eyes darted nervously around, as if Rhett would suddenly appear at the rare utterance of his name. Something told her it would be bad if Wade bumped into his stepfather without any forewarning. And if Rhett was lingering in Atlanta, she had better do it soon. But the words would not come so easily.

Wade watched Scarlett, with an intensity and acuity that belied his mother. And then his expression shifted. He bit on his bottom lip and cursed.

"Wade, don't—"

"You saw him, didn't you? I thought…I thought I spotted someone that looked like him at the depot. It wasn't just someone who looked like him, though, was it? It was actually him?"

"Yes," she said simply.

Wade cursed again and Scarlett started to scold him, but her voice withered into silence at the look on his face. If Ellen had ever hated someone, hated someone as deeply as she had loved everyone, Scarlett now knew how those kind brown eyes of her mother would have burned into lakes of terrible fire.

Abruptly Wade stalked away and stormed out into the snow. The door slammed shut just as Ashley came back down the stairs. He paused on the last step, wordlessly beseeching her for an explanation.

"Should I go after him?" he asked after a moment.

"No, let him be."

She sank down onto a small bench in the entryway. Ashley shuffled towards her. He looked on the verge of saying something—some perfunctory apology, some useless talk about forgiveness and admiration, some nonsense she didn't want to hear.

"He doesn't care about you anymore, Ashley. He knows Rhett is in town."

Ashley stuttered to a halt. "You told him?"

"He guessed."

"Do you think he's going to look for him right now?"

"Yes."

"To talk to him?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

A clatter of voices erupted in the back of the house. India, Beau and Ella were loudly entering through the kitchen door. Their laughter jarred against the deadness in Scarlett's heart. She leaned her head back and stared blankly up at Ashley.

"I think Wade's going to try and kill Rhett," she said flatly. "And I can't decide if I want him to succeed or not."

Before Ashley could respond, Beau came bounding in and threw a snowball in his father's face. Scarlett watched Ashley wipe away the ice, a wooden grin on his lips. The lips that had so recently been kissing hers. She shivered. The flame between them had flared high and fizzled fast. It had left her feeling so much colder than before.

_Please review, even if you hate it. :) I appreciated the honest feedback. Cheers._


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter 3: Jar of Hearts_**

Scarlett paced in her entryway. Back and forth, back and forth her feet shuffled across the worn, thick carpeting. Her long dress streaked wide tracks into its grooves. She didn't know how long she had been waiting for her son to come home now.

Ella had gone upstairs to bed hours ago, her freckled face spotted with tears. She had taken the news of Rhett's reappearance and her brother's disappearance badly. Scarlett had announced to her the truth of Wade's absence from their Christmas supper the minute they had returned home from Pitty's, returned to a home where Wade was not sick in his bed as Scarlett had earlier claimed. Immediately Ella had dissolved into tears, and awkwardly Scarlett had tried to comfort her daughter, pat her red, thick hair and shush her hoarse sobs, until finally she could take the shuddering girl in her arms no more. With strained gentleness, she had kissed her goodnight and pushed her up to bed.

Soon Ella's muffled cries had stopped. Her raspy snores had started drifting throughout the noiseless mansion. And in that moment, not a second sooner and not a moment later, Scarlett had finally been able to consider her own feelings, to hear her own screaming thoughts. She hadn't liked what she had heard. Would Wade find Rhett? What would Rhett do? What would Wade do? Should she go look for them—for him? But where?

The snow still drifted down, the night grew darker and colder. Over and over and over again Scarlett listened to these furious, futile questions, her feet trailing the torment of her mind. It was all she had been able to hear now for far too long.

Suddenly she heard something else—feet on the front steps, voices at the door, the set of a key in the lock. She froze, folding her arms over her body and watched the door swing open.

The strange outline of two men clumped together greeted her vision. Wade's head hung down and his body slumped. Her son's skin was as pale as the snow on the ground, and his legs drooped as melting ice. A wave of panic stole over Scarlett and she rushed to the door.

"What did you do to him?" she asked, her hard eyes flashing to Rhett for the first time. In the shadow of the threshold she couldn't make out his expression. Either way she wanted to rake her nails into whatever was on his face.

"I didn't do anything to him, Scarlett," he grunted, catching Wade as he slipped further down his shoulder. "Whiskey did."

Her eyes bulged and she shot them back to Wade. Drunk? Her son was drunk? With the stench of fear rolling away she could smell the alcohol—that putrid, tangy scent. Her tongue slathered with saliva. It had been years since she had touched a real drink. Wade moaned then, somewhere between a gasp and a groan. It sobered her enough to be angry again.

"You got my son drunk?"

"If you will hold off your attack until after I deposit him somewhere inside, I will gladly stay to stand for your firing squad, Mrs. Butler."

There it was—that endless supply of jeering mockery. The annoyance crawled over her flesh.

"Don't you dare call me Mrs. Butler," she said, turning away with a glare. "Come on, lay him on the sofa in the study."

Scarlett walked briskly to the closest door and held it open. Heaving, Rhett dragged Wade into the house. As he passed by her, his shoulder bumped against her arm. The touch was accidental. It was electric. Sweat pooled in her palms and armpits. She clenched her fists. "Pardon me," Rhett mumbled, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. He whisked past her, and she spun back into the entry way.

The silver of the moon streamed in from the arching windows and kerosene lamps flickered all around. The draft from the outside chilled the cavernous space. Only feet away, but the air was blessedly cooler, a ray of daylight in this dark midnight. She took in a couple deep, calming breaths. Wicking the moisture from her brow, she heard two thuds as Wade's boots hit the floor. She was ready for Rhett when he loped back out into the open hallway.

He halted a few feet from her and his eyes quickly grazed over her. She wrapped her arms about her, thankful that she was still in her high-necked green frock, and risked returning his razor gaze. In the metallic glow she noticed a purple welt across his brown face, from his ear to his jaw. The unfathomable struck through her stony rage and drew a chary question from her lips.

"You let Wade hit you?"

Rhett stuck his hands into his pockets. "I wouldn't say I let him, no."

"He fought you?"

"He landed one solid, mean right hook before the men I was playing poker with tackled him." Rhett flicked his head back toward the study. "If I hadn't seen him at the train station with Ella the other day, I wouldn't even have known who was attacking me. It took four grown men to hold him back. He's not the boy I used to know."

"He's not a boy at all," Scarlett said coolly.

"No, he is not."

Rhett's voice had dropped, his mouth had turned down. It was such a simple gesture, such a simple change in tone—but it was too familiar, even after all these years it was too familiar. Scarlett flattened the urge to flee, to hurl herself as far away from him as possible. She dug her nails into her hidden fists, her arms twisted tightly against her chest.

"I think you better go now. Thank you for bringing Wade home—even if he is not completely well."

Rhett nodded, but did not move. She swallowed. She knew he was watching her, watching her and probably understanding her.

"I didn't get him drunk, Scarlett."

"I don't care right now Rhett. It's late and I'm tired."

"You can thank the men who I was beating poker at—they wanted to show Wade their gratitude for knocking me to the floor and ending their suffering, or at least their bank accounts' suffering."

Scarlett sighed, a ragged breath and motioned to the door. "Please, just go Rhett. I'm sure Wade will tell me what transpired in the morning. I don't need you—"

"No, you don't need me, do you?"

There was something in his voice, something in his face. It wasn't the glassy haze of alcohol, either. The whites of his eyes were as pure as his irises were black. No tremor shook his hands, no puffiness bulged the under of his short lashes. Vaguely she wondered if he had been drinking at all tonight—or for months for that matter.

"I have no interest in discussing anything with you. It's too late."

She started to walk away, but his hand lashed out and snatched her wrist, yanking her to a halt. Her breath caught.

"Just how late is it Scarlett?" he asked.

She glanced down at his hard grip and up into his limpid, obsidian eyes, hating the flames that were licking the inside of her belly, the fire creeping into her veins.

"Don't touch me."

He smirked, the whites of his teeth just bared beneath his mustache. She flung her wrist and Rhett released her, but his massive bulk still blocked her way. This was the last thing she had wanted tonight, the last thing she had ever wanted again.

"Let me by, Rhett."

"Just answer my question and I will. How late is it?"

Scarlett stared at him, the exhaustion in her bones. "I don't know—go look at the grandfather clock in the parlor before you leave. It hasn't been moved in ten years."

A light sparked in his gaze, a smile stirred on his lips. "It's a relief to know some things never change. You're still as literal as the day I met you."

"And you're still as irksome."

His smile widened, but she hadn't been joking. Her entire body throbbed with fatigue from her crown to her toes. She massaged her temples and moved back a few steps.

"What do you want Rhett? Why are you here?"

"I like Atlanta. I always have."

"I mean in my home, as you well know."

"It may be your home, Scarlett, but the deed is in my name."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a fact."

She rolled her head back and looked at him, her eyes clean of emotion. Her heart was not in this fight, she had surrendered it long ago. "Fine, move in here. You obviously still have a key."

"With you?"

"I wouldn't live under the same roof with you if it were the last place on earth with a roof."

This had been spoken wearily, but she had meant every word of it. Nothing would tempt her to inflict his presence on her in such an intimate, familial way. Even if Tara were burned to the ground, she wouldn't do it. She would sooner move in with Ashley and India before she ever shared a home with Rhett again.

Rhett was laughing softly at her. The sound didn't grate on her as it once had—what was any sound, any word compared to the emptiness of the last six years? She clutched her arms again around her abdomen, holding at bay the memories. That space blown apart by his desertion had been filled, with joys and pains and a life without him. That was her reality, not this nightmare of his return.

"You know," he said, gingerly rubbing the bruise across his jaw. "Wade wouldn't even look at me at first tonight—not after he had punched me. But, after a couple rounds of whiskey, I couldn't get him to shut up."

"Is that so?

He dropped his hand from his jaw, and drawled on. "He's been holding back his tongue for years, keeping secrets he wouldn't have shared tonight if he had remembered who was on the barstool beside him, I would wager. And as you are aware, I never bet on something unless the odds are in my favor to win. Of course, there are always exceptions."

His cool gaze floated over her face, the lightness of it tickled across her skin as a phantom's breath. She melted into the wall as he took two steps closer to her. His distinct scent wrapped around her.

"You haven't answered my question, Scarlett—how late is it? And as thick as you can be, I know you don't actually believe I'm referring to the time of day."

"That doesn't mean I know what you are talking about, or that even if I did I would want to talk to you about it."

"What about what I want?"

"What about it?" She glared and straightened her spine. "What do I care what you want?"

There it was again—that something in his expression. If she had seen that shadow cross any one else's face, she would have called it fear. Whatever the emotion, it wasn't in his flat voice.

"Do you care what your son wants?"

The shift in conversation threw her, but not enough to confuse her, not enough to put aside her rising, protective wrath. "How you have the gall to bring up my children, like you know them better than me."

"You've changed, Scarlett, but that doesn't mean you've changed what kind of mother you are."

"You don't know me."

"Don't I?"

"My children are all that I have—they are all that I have ever had. Maybe I didn't always realize that, but I do now. So don't you stand there and ask me if I care what my son wants. Who do you think you are?"

"I know exactly who I am, Mrs. Butler. Do you know who you are? Do you know who your son is or what he wants?"

"I know he doesn't want you in his life," she said coldly.

Rhett's intent eyes met hers, and she waited, suddenly anxious, eager, alert. Her mind was too tired to cling to the anger, her body too tense to clutch at the fury.

"True, but he wants more than me out of his life, Scarlett. He wants someone else in your life."

"What are you—"

"He told me he wishes you would just divorce me already and marry a man who deserves you."

Scarlett sucked in her breath, surprised. Her marriage was a status to her and nothing more; an inconvenience at times, but other than that, no more significant than the letters in her name. The continuation of it was only due to the possible damage to Wade and Ella's reputation that might come from her divorce. Wade must know that, surely he must realize that.

These last six years Scarlett had worked hard, harder than she had ever worked in some ways, to crawl her way back into the good graces of Atlanta's Old Guard. Despite the general hatred and disapproval for Rhett, she wouldn't jeopardize the tiny corner of acceptance and friendship she had hollowed out for her small family for revenge or vindication or respite. She had been selfish for too many years. If her penance for her younger self's societal sins was her effectual widowhood, so be it. She was paying for all her sins now, anyway. Her life was her purgatory. For no one else than for her children would she have remained, silent month after silent month, legally tied to Rhett, though. For no one else, not even all the saints, would she have sacrificed her pride. But as for love, she was finished with romance.

She blinked back the wonder and blinked up at Rhett, willing him to leave, silently begging him to read her mind and just leave. But if he did understand the plea in her wide, swimming eyes, he ignored it.

"Wade told me you had been through enough in your life Scarlett and that you should be with someone who would take care of you for a change, someone who would love you for you." Up until now Rhett's voice had been as smooth as still waters, but as he went on, that liquid softness began to ripple: "I believe his exact words were that you deserved a man who would love you as deeply as a man can love a woman. Wise words from a young man who, as far as I know, has never been in love."

"Rhett…" she began, needing him to leave, because the longer he stayed, his scent, his breath, his body near her, she started to need something else from him, something Ashley's kiss had resurrected in her. Rhett silenced her with a wave of his hand.

"I'm going Scarlett. But there was that one thing I wanted to know—which you have not answered me, and maybe therein is my answer. How late is it? Do you want what Wade wants for you? Do you want a divorce?"

She was drained; whatever strength left after this long day was oozing out from her. She slouched against the wall and looked into his inscrutable eyes. The eyes she knew as well as she didn't know.

"Is this why you are here Rhett? You want a divorce?" She paused, searching her heart for more than a whisper of envy or an echo of interest. Nothing was there, not in the midst of her exhaustion. "Do you want to marry someone else?"

A ghost of a grin wavered over his full lips. "I was never a marrying man, and after being married to you, I'm even less of one."

She nodded, her moody gaze sliding past his shoulder to the dining room door, to the stairs, to the setting of her greatest defeat. "You aren't very good at being married, that's for sure."

"No, but regardless of what happened, and for what it's worth, I don't regret asking you to marry me."

Her bleary eyes trailed back to him. The moon must have set behind some clouds, or the eaves of the house. Only the tangerine gold of the kerosene lamps washed over his face now, the orangish glow bled youth and vigor into his face. It reminded her of everything he had stolen from her, of all the broken promises he had left at her feet when he had run away.

"I regret it," she said softly.

The illusion of his youthfulness crumbled. Rhett looked as old as Scarlett felt. She pushed herself away from the wall and pushed back her shoulders, her face leeched of light.

"I hope you didn't come back for me Rhett, because if you did, you shouldn't have come back at all."

Tiredly she moved away from him, and as before, his iron hand stopped her retreat, her wrist wrapped in his vice. She attempted to shake off his hold again, but his fingers turned to steel. Sharper than lightening he grabbed her other arm and propelled her back, her feet tripping backwards until she slammed into the wall. Her cry was a gasp, shock and terror roiling in her blood. She tried to shove him away, to bend her arms, or kick him, but Rhett swerved out of her reach and pinned her into submission. Both were sweating and panting by the time the struggle finished.

"Let me go, Rhett," she seethed. "Let me go!"

"I don't want to do this Scarlett, but you aren't giving me many options."

"I will scream and so help me I'll wake Wade and let him finish the job he started. Get off me!"

She bucked but Rhett leaned into her, trapping her with his weight. His shoulder pressed into her chest, his hands constrained her arms. His face was next to hers, the rough of his stubble burned her cheek and heat of his breath scorched her ear.

"From what Wade let slip, you weren't this reluctant with Mr. Wilkes this afternoon."

She stopped fighting, her mouth wrinkled in disgust. This was too much—too much. She had already been here before, with Rhett, with Ashley. Her earlier, forlorn thought came back to her, arousing her desperation: these two men were bound, sent by some devil, to haunt her steps and damn her days with darkness.

"I have nothing to say to you about Ashley," she said in a low voice. "Now get off me."

The blood was collecting at her wrists, a wet film gathering between his fingers and her skin. There was anger and violence in their brutal contact, and to her shame, desire. Rhett leaned away, just enough to focus his dark eyes on her quivering ones.

"Are you sharing his bed?"

"I will tell you what I told Wade—that's none of your concern."

"It is if I'm not around and you get pregnant."

"Even then, it would not be your concern."

"Unless you use my money to pay for your bastard."

"I haven't touched your money in years—and you know it."

"Yes, something that honestly always confused me, but if you have been lying with Wilkes it confuses me a little less."

"I didn't want to owe you anything, not a dime if I could help it, and I don't—certainly not an explanation for what I've been doing for the past six years or with whom I've been doing them."

Suddenly she twisted her arms. Rhett's reflexes were faster than hers, though. A surge of disappointment rocked her already volatile mood. For added to her rage was a deep, vile longing, an angry humiliation. Failing to weaken his grip, to quiet the tremble in her core, she attacked him with the only weapons in her arsenal. Hot words frothed to her mouth, spewing from her lips as venom.

"What about you Rhett? How many other beds have you shared? How many more whores have you kept? I'd ask if you are staying with that Watling creature, but if you haven't heard, she got so drunk three years ago that she fell off her own balcony."

Rhett's body flinched, his face hardened. "No, Scarlett," he rasped into her ear. "She didn't fall, she jumped."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Because she mailed me her suicide note."

Her astonishment overcame everything else and her body went slack. The fire in his black eyes gleamed across her vision, the dark stone of his expression glinted. And before she realized how real that new shadow on his face was, Rhett was torn away from her. Cold air blasted across her front and stunned, she watched as Wade threw Rhett down by the scruff of his collar and dropping to his knees began pummeling his stepfather, slurring curses at him and screaming at him for touching his mother.

Mesmerized by the suddenness of Wade's attack, the savagery of his assault, it took Scarlett a moment to realize Rhett wasn't even trying to fight back, and that Wade wasn't close to slowing down. Her throat constricted and she stumbled to her son, falling beside him and tugging at his coat.

"Wade! Wade! You must stop, darling. You must stop!"

"No mother!"

"Wade!" she cried, wrapping her arms around his back. "Stop!"

Her eyes were closed, her cheek against his shoulder, and she felt rather than saw his arms drop to his sides. She listened to the rapid beating of his heart, heard the hoarse breathing of Rhett, and the distant snores of Ella—thank heaven her daughter hadn't woken up! That would have been more than she could bear.

Wade clambered up, and Scarlett slipped away from his rising body. Opening her shattered eyes, she stared up at her son. Red splotches dotted his face and blood his hands. He looked down at her, his eyes glazed, and then back over to Rhett, who had scooted up against the bottom stair, his legs sprawled out in a 'v,' his head down, and his hands up over his face.

"Why is he here?" Wade asked, his voice scratchy.

"He brought you home."

"Oh," he breathed.

Suddenly he swayed, his leg shaking against Scarlett's shoulder. "I don't feel so well, mother," he mumbled, before collapsing heavily onto the thick carpet.

Instantly Scarlett scrambled over to him. "Please, please, let it just be the whiskey," she silently prayed. She could not take any more today. Relief spilled into her as she put her face over his mouth and felt the blow of his shallow breathing and the movement of his chest. She bit her trembling lip and stroked his cold, flushed cheek.

"Roll him onto his side, Scarlett."

She flipped her head up. She had nearly forgotten Rhett was there. And the sight of his puffy, misshapen face and the droplets of crimson trickling down his torn suit made her wish he wasn't.

"Roll him onto his side," he repeated. "Or he might choke on his own vomit."

Scarlett did not hesitate now. She wasn't a big enough fool to ignore his advice, especially about what to do with drunken men. She heaved Wade over and shakily stood, reluctantly turning back to Rhett.

"Do you need me to get you anything? I don't have any whiskey in the house anymore—but there's some sherry or red wine in the pantry."

'Wine will do, if that's all you have."

She nodded and went to go get some from the kitchen. As she moved through the empty, dark house she tried to make sense of everything Rhett had told her. But there was no sense in what he had said. Just as there was no sense in him still being here. She would let him have his drink, clean up his wounds, and send him on his way.

When she came back, with some towels and a glass brimming with wine, her jaw was set and her eyes were clear. She handed him first the drink, which he downed in one clean swallow, and then the towels.

"Thank you," he muttered, dabbing at the blood dripping from his ear. "I told you Wade has a mean right hook. He could be a boxer, if he ever lost his property and was strapped for cash."

Amazed by the crooked smile on his face, she could only shrug her shoulders. Rhett moved his arm to press the towel into the other side of his jaw, and his sleeve slipped down his wrist.

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"It looks like you have numbers branded into your skin," she said, pointing to the blue marks on his forearm.

Rhett did not immediately respond. He swiped away some more streaks of blood and slowly staggered up. His eyes locked with hers, blank circles of black.

"They are numbers."

"Why?"

"Because that's what happens when you go to prison."

His bland statement rocked her with the force of a hammering rod. Nothing he had said thus far, nothing she had seen, had shocked her more. Rhett was watching her closely, scrutinizing her with that old, penetrating stare. A hundred questions pelted her brain. Out of all of them, she latched onto the one that poked at her the most.

"Belle knew you were in prison?"

"Yes," Rhett sighed.

"So you told your mistress, but not your wife."

"At the time it seemed appropriate."

"And now?"

"Now it doesn't really matter. She's dead."

"I thought you said she killed herself."

"She did."

"Why? Because she learned you were in prison?"

Rhett's gaze glimmered with something, something darker than that fleeting, unimaginable fear. And when he spoke, his reply chilled her to the core. It would haunt her.

"No, because she learned I was in prison for killing her son."

_Note: And fade to black. So sorry. I will not post on this again until I have a couple chapters for ABS up. I am working on that one, but then this one just pops up. You know me, I go wild for angst. Thanks for the reviews. And yeah, I think Scarlett would be a little less impulsive after such a span of years. I also think that they wouldn't really end up together post-canon, so I have to do something dramatic to get them back together, even in the same room. _


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